"I shall not leave the room. I want you to——"
"I'm going to."
And he made a rush for Kid Whaley.
Bill Marshall was a large young man. So far as the Kid was concerned, he had every advantage that goes with weight. He was also something better than a mere novice in the use of his hands. But he did not have the skill of Antonio Valentino, nothing like it; nor his experience, nor his generalship. He simply had a vast amount of determination, and he was angry.
He missed a good many blows, whereas the Kid seldom missed. But the more often Bill missed the more resolved was he that Kid Whaley should leave the house a chastened artist. One thing that encouraged him was the fact that the Kid was not really hurting him. For several minutes they utilized all the available floor space.
Aunt Caroline had retreated to a corner, where she was standing on a chair, her skirts gathered about her. Frightened? No. She was giving Bill Marshall plenty of room. There was a battle-light in her eyes. And Bill, busy as he was, began to hear her voice, coming to him as though in a strange dream:
"Will Marshall, don't you let that creature beat you! Do you hear that? William! Look out! Don't you way. I expect you to thrash him, William Marshall. I want him thrown out of this house. Thrown out! Do you hear that? William! Look out! Don't you see what he's trying to do? There! Strike him again, William. Harder! Again, William; again!"
Aunt Caroline was stepping around on the chair-seat in her agitation. Her fists were clenched; her eyes blazing; her nostrils dilated. The butler and the servants and Pete Stearns, who had crowded to the doorway, looked at her in amazement.
"Keep on, William; keep on! I want him punished. Do you understand? I want him beaten! Harder, William! There! Like that—and that! Oh, dear; I can't think—— Oh, what is it I want to say?"
What dear old Aunt Caroline wanted to say was "Atta boy!" but she had never learned how. She wanted to say it because matters were suddenly going well with Bill.